A really hot mom came into one of my works today. Her rack was huge and her facial features had been barely affected by gravity in decades. Her children were unattractive with no potential. I wanted to tell her something like "Huh, I guess hotness is a recessive gene. Or, your husband is just ugly as shit." But I didn't because I'm all about customer service. Or something.

7/19/07

At one of my unrewarding jobs, I had to cut onions. Like, many, MANY pounds of onions in an unventilated room. I tried farting as much as possible to make the air slightly more tolerable, but to no avail. It's okay, though, because even though work is about as enjoyable as sticking pipe cleaners up my urethra, the validating thing is that I haven't been able to afford new shoes in almost two years. Oh, wait.